


Pitch Black

by Simonsaysbaz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Also there isnt much Agatha, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bad Flirting, Boys In Love, But mostly fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Homophobia, Humour Ig, M/M, Malcolm sucks in this, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Realisation of feelings, Watford University, alternating pov, and so does Davy but that obvs, happy ending because im soft, kissing boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simonsaysbaz/pseuds/Simonsaysbaz
Summary: A Watford university au with a handful of angst and gay panic and boys in love being dumb. (Happy ending though because I'm soft hearted)
Relationships: Dev & Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this was actually the first ever fanfic that I wrote for the fandom but I never posted it because I never finished the first chapter but then last night I was looking through my drafts and went hmmm and thus this fic came to be. 
> 
> So this is a bit angsty and is rated M for a reason so I'm just going to put the Tws here:
> 
> Tw: Homophobia and homophobic slurs  
> Tw: Non-con/dub con (non graphic and flashbacks but it's still there)  
> Tw: Mental health issues and suicidal thoughts( mostly implied)  
> Tw: self harm (implied)  
> Tw: excessive swearing 
> 
> So yeah... That's a lot of triggers... The story is a bit serious but most of it implied and not so blatantly delved into so yeah. There's also a whole bunch of fluff though. And snowbazzy things. So you could stick around for that

**Baz**

  
The last time I saw Malcolm he told me that my mother would have been ashamed to call me her son.

It stung a whole lot more than I expected anything he could ever say to me would. I've always known what I was (am) and I've never needed anyone else reassuring me of my shortcomings as a person. Like I could ever fucking forget.

He was absolutely raving that night. I had just told him that I had no interest in running the family law firm and that I was going to study Literature in the university and he just completely lost it. I don't think I've ever seen him that frazzled in my entire life. Usually when I said something he disagreed with or found unbecoming, he would simply ignore me or calmly (but condescendingly) tell me I was wrong. Or he would just slap me and tell me to come to my senses. 

I think it was the sheer exposition that had been unloaded unto him that week that made him lose his top the way he did. He'd found one of my old journals, (I was fifteen and dramatically queer, sue me.) And he'd read in detail about the overwhelmingly gay thoughts I had about some of my classmates. I only knew he'd read it because I found the dusty thing sitting open on my bed and he hadn't so much as looked in my direction without disgust so blatantly painted on his features that week.

In any manner, I didn't expect Malcolm to take it well when I told him I wasn't going to miserably tread upon the path he set for me. His reaction was quite anticipated and, to be honest, I don't know what I would have done with myself if he'd just given me a pat on the back and some speech about how he _loves_ and _accepts_ me just the way I am and we could all just be a big happy family. I might have vomited. 

I know he thinks I'm just some petulant brat who's rebelling because he's bored and needs some conflict in his life. He probably thinks I'll come crawling back to him in a year, apologetic and begging for my inheritance. The truth is if I had let myself be sculpted in the perfect mould of what the Grimm-Pitch heir should supposedly be, the shear suppressiveness of it all would have driven me to self immolation by the time I was twenty.

Anyhow, I was thoroughly prepared to be disowned that night. I had even said my goodbyes to my sisters the day before. The twins didn't seem to understand half of what I was saying, I think they thought I was going off for holidays or such. I don't blame them, they're only three after all. Mordelia, however, was thoroughly distraught. She was snotty and weepy eyed when I told her that she probably wouldn't be allowed to see me (or even talk about/to me) anymore. Bloody emotional is what it was.

When Malcolm started screaming at me from across the dinner table, I noticed Mordelia clutch to the table cloth and shrink into her seat.

"I don't know what childish games you're playing Basilton, but you'd better stop this instant. You're an adult, so start acting like one. I've ignored your abnormalities for far too long, I held my tongue about this ridiculous thing you've been doing with your appearance lately, (the ridiculous thing he's referring to is me growing out my hair) (it's almost at my shoulders at this point and I'm well proud of it) and we haven't even spoken about your...your _depraved fetishes."_ At this point he had worked himself into a proper strop, clenching his cutlery like I assumed he wanted to do me.

"-And now, now you're saying you wouldn't take over the firm? How can you bear the Grimm-Pitch name when you're all wrong Basilton! You're being difficult on purpose, you must be! How else could someone so abhorrent and petulant be Natasha's son?!

She would be so ashamed of you, so disappointed in you! I tried my hardest to make you normal, to make you right and now you're telling me you want to run off to university to do God knows what? Literature? I won't stand for it. My _son_ wouldn't-“

It was then that I stood up. I couldn't take it any more. I had been the shameful and unwanted son of Malcolm Grimm for far too long. It was enough. The weariness that had draped around me for as long as I could remember had gotten much too heavy. I was tired. So, so tired. 

"Well then, it's a good thing you don't have a son anymore, isn't it." My voice was cool and plain but the meaning behind my words rang out through the room. 

My stepmother gasped, her hands flying over her mouth and Malcolm looked absolutely homicidal. I'm pretty sure that his upset was caused by the fact that I managed to disown him before he could me though. I could see that he was working his way to it. 

Mordelia looked at me, her small face painted a picture of sadness but not surprise. The twins were both sobbing, not because they knew what was going on but because Malcolm was properly shouting before I cut him off. It was all rather dramatic actually. Dinner was splendidly ruined. 

That night I packed up my things ( I didn't take much. Some clothes, some books, my laptop, my violin) and was officially dubbed the estranged son of the Grimm-Pitch family.

Malcolm shouted something after me but the only words I heard before I stepped into my Uber were _"cut off"_ and _"not welcome"._ I crashed at Niall's for the next three weeks while I sorted my shit out.

Staying at Dev's wasn't even an option because even though he lived only a ten minute drive away from the house in Hampshire, I did _not_ need to be around any of my family members right then. 

And now I'm here.

It's been about three months since I dropped the Grimm in my last name and life has been... Well, underwhelmingly similar to say the least. 

I don't regret leaving. Despite what Malcolm thinks, I can actually take care of myself. I've been working summers since I was in fifth year of secondary and I saved most of what I made in preparation for the eventuality of not having my family's money backing me. (I say eventuality but I've always been fairly sure that I was going to get kicked out when I flung my _alternate lifestyle_ in Malcolm's face.) 

I got a new job fairly quickly, thanks to Niall. It's in this little pastel hell of a 50's themed diner on the Watford campus called Petty and Petty's, and from what I've been told, the place is a student favorite.

Niall was already working there (he'd already been properly settled into Uni at this point; he's sharing an off campus flat with three other blokes he met on the school's Facebook page) so when there was an opening he immediately recommended me for the spot. 

The job is fairly easy, ( I've waited tables before) and the pay is good, the only downside is the mildly ridiculous outfit that the owners have us put on. I have to wear a pink bow tie for Christ sakes. (Not that I don't make it work, obviously I do.) (I mostly feel second hand embarrassment for Niall; all the pink clashes awfully with his red hair.) (Dev nearly lost his mind when we sent him pictures of us in our uniforms.) (He didn't come with Niall and I to Watford, he decided to actually be a proper son and go to Oxford like our fathers intended for us.) 

To be completely honest, I don't really _need_ the money I get paid for my job. I have my savings and I got into Watford on a full scholarship so everything's already paid for. I'd just rather have a job, it gives me something to ground myself and tire me out with.

Most of the time, if I don't have concrete obligations set, I don't know what to do with myself. I end up lost in my own head (a very dangerous thing) and I get stuck there, barely able to do anything else. Not eat, or sleep, or change my clothes. So I try to account for most of my day beforehand. Even if it's stupid small things I try to get myself to do, ( Like _clean out your playlist_ or _research on new cruelty free shampoos_ or _write your fucking schedule_ ) it makes me feel better to have it all listed out. 

It's been a while since things have gotten properly bad with my mental health ( Like, _needs-24/7-surveillance-so-he-doesn't-off- himself_ bad.) I had a tiny relapse the month after I left Malcolm's. I didn't _try_ anything but  
I stopped taking my meds for almost two weeks and I barely took a shower in that time span.

(Niall helped me through though, even though he nearly went mad with worry.) (Good man.) (He _was_ really cross with me after the whole ordeal however, because I refused to let him tell Dev or Fiona what had happened; I still wasn't ready to communicate with any family members yet.) 

But it's fine.

Things are good.

Maybe.

Not really.

I don't know...

I just... I didn't think I would still be feeling this way by now. I have freedom, yes. Things are decidedly _better_ now. Nothing's holding me back from doing whatever the fuck I want to but... I still just feel like I'm going through the motions. I don't feel any seismic changes inside me that I can grab onto. 

I think, in my mind, I equated freedom to happiness and that is slowly turning out to not be the case. It's not like I expected all my problems to magically go away; I didn't think that just because I up and left Grimm Manor my depression and self loathing would suddenly disappear. (I'm not _that_ deranged.) 

I just thought that maybe it would be more  
...recessive? I don't know. What I _do_ know is that right now, freedom doesn't taste a whole lot different than being shackled does. I'm still just the same old miserable Baz. Indifferent and sad and unlovable. 

And now I'm sitting in my new dorm room, freshly moved in and already moping.

Splendid.

**Simon**

  
Penny told me to smile when I meet my new roommate. She told me that it would be _fine_ and he would be _cool_ and I would have been worrying for absolutely no reason because there was no way that he _wouldn't_ like me.

Penny was, and I don't think I've ever gotten the chance to say this, wrong. 

As soon as I open the door I can tell that I'm in way over my head. He's set up his half of the room already. He doesn't have that much stuff out but what he _does_ have looks all gothy and obscure and like we would have nothing in common at all. Which is fantastic. 

There's a violin beside his bed and a MacBook pro on his desk. His sheets are all black and mature and it's making me feel right stupid for bringing my TMNT printed ones. He's got books all over his side; on the nightstand under his bed, beside his chair. He's probably the type of bloke who drinks overpriced black coffee and says, "Charmed, I'm sure," when he meets someone.

He also looks like he wants to kill me. 

His expression, I mean. He's not the most intimidating person physically. He's sitting but I can tell he's tall in that slender type of way. (I would definitely crush him in a fight.) His hair is also pretty long for a bloke's, it's shiny and black and falling over his eyes. The hair does absolutely _nothing_ to lessen the glare he's currently giving me. 

Breathe Simon. He's just a person. And besides, appearances can be deceiving. Maybe he's just got a resting bitch face. 

"I- H-hi. I'm Simon." Fuck I'm stuttering. At least I managed to get words out. I put down my bags beside my bed and extend a hand out towards him with as warm a smile as I can muster just like Penny told me. (Which seems like such a dumb thing to do now. Who even shakes hands anymore? And mine are all clammy from the nerves. Fuck.)

He looks at my hand and then back up at my face and suddenly I feel like maybe it wouldn't be so bad if a giant hole in the ground suddenly appears underneath me. His eyes are really grey. (Not like the flat type but like the sparkly type that looks colourful even though it's just grey. I don't know.) 

There's a chocolate stain on my hand that I've only just noticed now so that's probably why he doesn't want to touch me. He thinks I've got fucking poor hygiene skills. Slowly, I retract my hand and not so subtly wipe it on my shirt. He turns away and clears his throat. 

"Basil."

"Like the herb?"

"Yes, like the herb." 

"Right..." And now it's awkward. Fuck me. 

He's already looking away. Staring at his phone and scrolling through something probably to avoid me starting up conversation. Which is fine by me honestly.

I didn't exactly hope that things would be this weird between my new roommate and me but at least strained awkwardness is the most of our problems. 

He seems relatively harmless aside from his resting bitch face. So maybe things would be okay between us once we get over our first impressions.

-

Fuck first impressions, Baz Pitch is an absolute fucking _monster._

He's the walking definition of vicious and ruthless and bloody _savage_ and I've only been boarding with him for a month. I'm pretty sure he's tried to poison my tea already.

I can't believe I thought a bit of awkwardness would be the most of my worries. What a fucking joke. The initial discomfort of our first meeting quickly wore off as soon as I figured out how big of an entitled prat he is. Which was that very same night actually. 

He accused me of trailing water from the shower all over his side of the room. Which I didn't even do! I wasn't even that wet when I came back from the bathroom because I'd dried myself off! But then he just kept going off on me which caused me to tear into him back. (I'm not just going to stand there while someone chews me out. Patience is not my strong suit.) 

Long story short, I ended up shaking off all the water on my hair onto his face and he threw my towel out the window. And so he became my arch nemesis. 

Penny says I'm obsessed with him and that we're both being juvenile and we should get over it. Fat chance.

Also I found out he has the edgiest fucking name on the face of the planet, _(Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,_ like he's some dark, brooding vampire character from a bad teen fiction novel) and that he's apparently some rich swot from Hampshire. Fucking figures.

He's taken to calling me _Snow_ which infuriates me more than anything else. So I call him _Baz_. (It's what everyone else calls him but for some reason he hates when I say it. So I use it as often as possible.) 

Relating with Baz is always this harsh and heavy thing. Like one of us is always fighting for the dominance the other doesn't want to let go of. And for some odd reason that I can't put together, I actually kind of _like_ it. 

It gives me some sort of sick rush whenever I push him and he pushes me back. Most people in my personal life are too scared of me breaking or _'going off'_ so they usually leave me be when I get all fumy and red faced. But not Baz. The twat is as stubborn as I am. 

It's why I can't just ignore him and leave him to his plotty devices. I basically _have_ to go prodding my nose into his business.

(Besides I'm also fairly sure he's evil and is actively planning to kill me.) 

"Where are _you_ going all dressed up." 

Baz ignores me and keeps fixing his hair in the mirror, tugging and teasing on it so it falls in lazy strands over his face. (I don't know why he bothers anyway. His hair is always fucking perfect no matter what he does. Git.) 

"Hey!" I flick the cap of my pen at him and it bounces of his arm. In a second, I see it hurling back towards me aimed straight at my forehead but I manage to dodge before it makes contact. Baz, 0, Simon, 1. "I asked you a question."

He stands straight, still bloody ignoring me, and picks up his phone and wallet from his desk. My eyes narrow in suspicion. 

He's dressed really nice. I mean, he always dresses nice, the posh swot, but tonight it's more...deliberate? I don't know. What I do know is that he looks unnecessarily good.

He's got on a plain white button down that he's rolled the sleeves up on and some beige corduroy trousers. It's a simple outfit but of course he makes it look like he's about to walk New York Fashion Week or something. Also the scent of whatever the fuck it is that he always smells like (Cedar and something citrusy I can't remember the name of. I snuck some of his shampoo once) is a bit more prominent. It suddenly dawns on me what's happening.

"You're going on a _date?"_ Baz is pretty good at stifling his reactions and keeping the air of nonchalance around him but I'm always watching him so I'm used the catching the most minute changes in his demeanor. And the small pause he gets at my words is all the confirmation I need. 

"You are, aren't you?" I don't think I can keep the disbelief out of my voice. "Who's the unlucky guy that has to get all roped up with you?" (He told me he was gay about a week after we moved in and told me if I was uncomfortable with it that I should a) _get over it_ or b) _move out_.) (He's such a prick.) 

Baz scoffs a little and sits at the edge of his bed, crossing one of his (distractingly long) legs over the other. 

"I wouldn't think that was any of your concern, Snow." And because he's Baz and he lives to rile me up he adds, " Unless maybe you wished you were the one in his shoes? Fancy a _snog,_ Snow?"

"W-what? I don- I'm not _gay!"_ I manage to sputter out. I can feel the heat rising in my face. 

Baz smirks and then gives me a condescending once over and I'm suddenly very aware of how ratty my sweatpants look. "No. Clearly not." 

Then he just up and leaves. 

I stew for a little bit before deciding that I'd rather be eating right now than thinking about Baz. So I call up Penny and ask her to meet me at the cafeteria before following after Baz out the door.

-

The room is all dark when I come in. The lights are all turned off except for the bathroom one so I'm guessing Baz is back and in there even though the door is wide open. I'm about to flip on the main lights when I hear a hushed voice coming from the bathroom.

"He didn't even want to talk to me. He just kept _leering_ and trying to rub his hands up my thighs the entire time." That's Baz's voice. Is he talking about his date? What the fuck?

Slowly, I creep into the room and try and peep into the bathroom to see what's going on. Baz is sat on the floor with his back facing the door and he's on the phone with someone. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm back. 

I'm about to alert him of my presence when the light glints off his face a little and I notice the wetness of his cheeks. Baz is crying?

"No- no. It wasn't like...like _him_. He didn't make me _do_ anything before I stopped him. He just called me an entitled bitch and didn't give me a ride back." Then he goes silent and I hear a muffled voice on the other side of the call. I see him shuffle a bit, pulling one knee closer to his chest and leaning his head on it.

The guilt suddenly hits me. I shouldn't be eavesdropping. This is a _private conversation_ and he's obviously confiding in someone. It's none of my business. I should have just turned on the lights and binged Netflix like I was going to instead of snooping about. 

But my mind and my body are conflicting and even though I know I should go, I also don't exactly want to. This is a glimpse into another aspect of Baz that I never get to see. 

Baz breaks the silence with a small, "I know."

Then another, " _I_ _know."_

And for some reason I can tell he's just rolled his eyes and he's smiling when he says a final, "I know." Then, "Thanks." 

And then he's sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands and getting up. I don't even think as I quickly back up from the door and throw the lights on then shut the room door closed. (A bit _too_ loudly.) 

Baz peeks out the bathroom and once he sees me standing there, scowls and pulls the bathroom door closed. I let out a sigh of relief. I'm shocked he didn't accuse me of spying. (Which I was, in all honesty.) I'm pretty sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

I shuck off my clothes and slip into my sweats again, watching Netflix on my phone. Baz comes into the room not long after, completely fresh faced with not a tear in sight. He turns off the lights and mutters something under his breath before slipping under his covers.

Time passes, and I plug my phone in for the night. I stare across the darkness of the room at Baz's back for what seems like forever. I don't know what I'm thinking. He isn't sleeping. I can tell.

I turn so I'm not facing him anymore. I end up falling asleep with thoughts of Baz on mind.

Which isn't that unusual now that I think about it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oml I don't even know how long it's been since I posted the first chapter of this fic. Close to six months I'm sure.
> 
> I'm really sorry to anyone who got interested in this and then I left hanging. Honestly I've been writing the second chapter of this almost since I posted the first, I just never finished it since I'm not the best at focusing and it's really hard for me get motivation and really follow through with things. 
> 
> I still plan on finishing this fic tho and hopefully the next chapter I post wouldn't take forever again lol.

**Baz**

Simon Snow has just walked into the diner and it's all the confirmation I need that I'm indeed living a cursed life. 

I mean, it's exceptionally cruel of the universe to keep playing these types of tricks on me— but then again, when have I ever known the universe to be anything but. First I'm handed the world's most _insufferably_ gorgeous man as a roommate and then he proceeds to unwittingly stalk me all around the Watford campus. It's inhumane treatment and I wouldn't stand for it. 

He's been absolutely _everywhere_ for the past few weeks. Whatever corner I turn, or door I darken, he's already there, laughing and existing and bothering me with that purple haired girl he always seems to hang around. ( _His girlfriend???)_ (I don't even want to think about it.) (I can't stop thinking about it.)

Though, somehow, I _have_ managed to properly evade him. Years of running away from my problems have made me quite adept in the field that is avoidance. It's truly a pity that suddenly fleeing the diner would probably cost me my job _and_ rouse suspicions about the stability of my sanity. (Warranted suspicions but still.) 

So now I'm stuck. And it's awful. 

And I've been trying to wrap my head around that, _why_ it's awful. For some reason I see Snow and my mind just immediately goes into flight or fight mode. I think it's my defence mechanism against attractive men; make them hate me early, so I don't end up at their mercy later on. ( Also, it doesn't help that I'm a right mess at social interactions in the first place.)

However, I did have to up the ante in this case since Simon Snow was quite possibly sent to be my own personal form of torture.(Devastatingly Gorgeous with a hint of Moronic Impulse and a smattering of Impossibly Straight? Sounds like my type.) 

Except it didn't really work in this case, did it? 

Because Simon Snow is a stubborn idiot who instead of staying out of my way and letting me brood respectfully, decided that he wouldn't, in fact, let me get away with being an arsehole and fights me back. (Which was rather unprecedented. It's like sometimes I _actually_ forget that some people have backbones and not everyone just lets me walk all over them.) (Mores the pity.)

I don't realise that I've zoned out, and have been cleaning the same spot on the table for the past minute or so, until Niall bumps me in the shoulder.

I unwittingly zoned him out since we were mid conversation when Snow walked in. (He was reiterating his apologies for encouraging me to go on that truly horrible date I went on last night.) (It wasn't his fault really that the guy was a total arse. And it's not like he really recommended him. He was just some bloke who came into the diner the other day and wouldn't stop flirting with me so Niall said I should give him a shot. ) (It's a disadvantage to be nice really, I wouldn't make the mistake again.) 

"You okay mate? I've called your name like, three times already." 

"Yeah, I'm..." My voice trails off as I catch Simon's gaze just as he looks up from the entrance. "...fine." 

Since he's Simon Snow and it's mandatory he makes a spectacle of himself wherever he goes, he throws his arms up in the air—rather aggressively—and instantly starts bitching—rather loudly—to the girl beside him. I make out the words, "See?! Fucking everywhere!", before the girl shushes him and pulls him towards a table at the other end of the diner. Away from me. 

His eyes burn into mine until he's pulled completely out of view and even though I'm sure my glare looks thoroughly menacing, I'm practically quaking in my metaphorical boots internally. 

"What the hell was that?" Niall questions, as his eyes flit between me and Snow's previous spot. I startle a little, I forgot he was here for a bit. I forgot where I was. (I really ought to work on my presence of mind.)

"What was what?" I respond, tone aiming for casual. (As if I'm ever casual about anything in my life.) Niall gives me a thoroughly unimpressed look and I don't blame him. I sound rather unconvincing even to myself. 

I avoid his gaze as I swiftly clean up the rest of the table and head for the backroom where employees take their breaks. There isn't a point really, Niall is hot on my tail.

"Don't play dumb with me, Baz. It isn't cute." He leans against the wall as I take off my apron, hanging it on the rack beside him. (It's a pastel pink, gingham pattern and has a picture of two goats dancing printed on the front. It's _the_ most cursed item of clothing I have ever worn.) 

"Come on. That's him, innit?"

"I haven't the faintest what you're talking about." I settle into one of the couches strewn about for employee use and run a hand through my hair, tugging at the elastic at the back of my head and letting my ponytail fall loose over my shoulders. 

I shouldn't bother honestly, it isn't my break yet so I have to be out and back on the floor any second now. And my boss has a thing against her employees with long hair working without it tied back.

I just... I need a moment. To recuperate. Seeing Snow out in the wild always seems to set my bearings off kilter a bit. Niall doesn't seem to get the memo.

"Was that your roommate? No, wrong question, that was definitely your roommate. Unless you've managed to make an enemy of some other lad, I guess. " He crosses his arms, still leaning against the wall, and his eyes narrow. He looks like the world's least intimidating hoodlum, a nasty expression and clash of pink and red to match. 

"What _I_ want to know is, why you were looking at him like _that."_

Since denial might as well be my middle name, I reply, "Like what?"

He gives me a signature Niall look. It's one I've gotten several times over the years so I'm well acquainted with it's meaning; _cut the bull crap._

"Basilton, I've known you for the better part of a decade. D'you really think I don't recognise the look you just gave your roommate out there?" He uncrosses his arms and points a rather accusing finger at me. 

"Because if you're going to play ignorant, then I'll spell it out for you. That was your, ' _I don't know how to flirt so I'm going to be rude to you instead but you secretly make my panties wet_ ' face."

"Did you just call me _Basilton?"_ It's a rather poor attempt at deflecting. I'm well off my game today.

"You're lucky I didn't go full Tyrannus on your arse. And don't try and change the subject."

I let out a sigh and run a hand over my face. Suddenly, I'd rather be out on the floor. Facing Snow seems a lot less exhausting than receiving an interrogation. (Actually scratch that. No, it doesn't.) 

"What do want, Niall." 

He pushes himself off the wall and comes to sit beside me. 

"What I _want,_ Baz, is for you to tell me why the ever loving _fuck_ you're crushing on your _straight_ roommate who you've been feuding with since the moment you bloody met. I mean, do you deliberately seek out the worst possible situations to put yourself in?" 

Something about his words really set me off. Maybe it's the blatant accusatory overtones, or the flinging of my poor life choices straight at my face, or the laying out of my very unspoken and, quite frankly masochistic, feelings for a certain roommate of mine, but I snap. I'm off the couch in an instant and raising my voice.

"I don't know Niall! Fuck, I don't know! It's not your problem anyway so just fuck off about it and stop trying to fucking parent me!" And then I find myself dragging my offensive apron off the rack and storming out the door.

I'm not even fully past the threshold of the break room before I'm hit with a massive wave of regret and shame. I know I'm overreacting and I know Niall's just trying to look out for me, but I it's like I just can't help but just blow everything out of proportion every once in a while.

My therapist says it's part of my self destructive tendencies. I think it's just because I'm a colossal wreck. Either way, I don't turn back and apologise immediately like I know I very much ought to.

I'll end up calling him later today to apologise, and he'll forgive me because he's a better person than I could ever even dream to be. But for now I'll walk out the door and pretend not to know I'm in the wrong. I can practically feel Niall shaking his head at me as I leave.

I need a smoke. I _deserve_ a smoke. I'm patting myself down for a pack when I catch a glimpse of pale blonde hair and dancing goats in my periphery. _Ebb._ Lovely. 

She ought to sanction me for this. Not only am I _not_ working when I'm supposed to, but I'm also actively searching for another more egregious slack-off method right in the middle of her floor—mind you not for the first time. Also I haven't got on my apron but that's neither here nor there. 

Fortunately for me, Ebb is about as docile and forgiving as an employer could get. (As a person could get, really.) (I feel bad for taking advantage. I'm not exactly a model employee.) 

"Baz dear, where have you and Niall been?"

"Ebb, I-"

I don't even manage to get out whatever half-arsed excuse I'm about to spew before she's waving it way with a good natured smile and slightly frantic air about her.

"Oh never mind, dear. Table seven's been unattended to for ages! Get to it then, chop chop."

And just like that I find myself being guided to Simon Snow's table. 

"And tie your hair back please!" She adds offhandedly, as if she hasn't just shoved me in the middle of an active war zone completely unarmed. 

Simon is deliberately staring at the menu with, what certainly must be, an exaggerated frown on his face. (Although with him you can't ever really tell. Everything he does is exaggerated. He's a walking hyperbole.) 

My hands are clammy but I ignore them as I pull out my notepad and pen from the pocket of my apron.

If I'm grateful for one thing that growing up in the Grimm household has thought me, it's how to maintain a perfectly emotionless expression. My voice gives nothing away when I ask, 

"What would you like to order?" 

Simon doesn't spare me a glance. He's decided to pick a fight with the menu instead of me and I'm unsure how to feel about that. The purple haired girl shoots him a glance, looking vaguely worried, before turning back to face me. 

It's maddeningly ridiculous, how nervous I feel at this moment. Nothing's even _happening._ But there's a gripping in my chest and a suppressed quiver on my lip. He isn't even _looking_ at me. I shouldn't be looking at _him._

But he's right by the window and the sun is practically setting up a stage for him. The beams bouncing off his bronze curls and having them practically shimmering in the light. The way his tawny skin looks like a canvas for the nights sky, with his freckles and moles forming their own unchartered constellations. The lovely rosy tint of his cheeks that I can pretend is there because he's charmed by my presence.

And not because he's holding behind barely subdued rage at the mere sight of me. 

His face is contorted dramatically into the picture perfect definition of displeasure and he's all but staring a hole straight through the menu that's squeezed so tightly in his palms, it's a right shock the laminated plastic hasn't cut straight through flesh yet. 

I _really_ shouldn't be looking at him. 

And I guess I shouldn't be throwing a fucking pity party about it either. I mean, it's not like his hate for me is exactly unwarranted. I _drove_ him to this. This is almost solely on me. The first time we met he was all shy smiles and offered handshakes and I all but scoffed in his face.

But then again, I'm Baz Pitch. Who am I if I'm not wallowing in my own self-hatred? 

The girl orders for both of them and I manage not to break into a sprint as I walk back to the kitchen.

**Simon**

Baz is here. He's _here._ Why is he here? 

Dumb question. He obviously works here, he's even got on the weirdly cute get up and everything. Baz in pink, I feel like I'm in an alternate universe or something. (Not that he doesn't usually wear pink. But this is like, that vivid noxious shade. He usually sticks to muted tones or pastels or whatever. ) (Why do I know Baz's colour scheme?) 

Why is he waiting tables at a campus diner? I thought he was completely loaded or something. He certainly acts like it, the pompous git, all his stuff is all posh and expensive. (He's threatened to burn me if I so much as step foot on his side of the room before.) 

Knowing him, he's probably just doing this to set me on edge. Rattle my teeth a little. Like he's been doing when I keep catching glimpses of him bloody everywhere. 

Maybe he overheard Penny telling me we should check this place out and managed to sneak in before we got here. Probably knocked out one of the employees out back and stole their uniform like they do in the movies or something. 

Penny would probably say that doesn't make any sense. I mean, I _know_ it doesn't make any bloody sense. Him probably just working here is a rather reasonable explanation honestly, but, then again, it's Baz. _Baz._

It's hard to picture Mr name-brand-shirts and six quid coffees working part-time and walking around in a bright pink apron. But I guess it shouldn't be that hard to picture given that it's _actually_ happening. 

I look over my menu and subtly–well, about as subtly as I can really manage anyway–track my eyes against his back as he makes his way away from us with our orders. I feel my gaze slipping lower and lingering somewhere it really shouldn't, before my face heats up in jealousy and rage.

Of course, he manages to make that awful uniform look good. If I wore it, I'd probably look an Easter egg or something but he obviously makes it work. I hate it. I hate _him._

It takes Penny snapping her fingers directly in front of my face for me to realise I hadn't exactly shifted my gaze and I've just been glaring at Baz's arse for a solid moment. 

"Simon, your face is red." She raises her brows at me and I'm sure I get even redder. I try to ignore the look she's giving me and I _definitely_ ignore her statement. 

"We probably shouldn't eat whatever he serves us," I mutter down at my menu. "Might be poisoned or something." 

I don't even need to look up to feel Penny rolling her eyes at me. 

"Stop being dramatic. The worst he can do is spit in your food really. And he doesn't seem the type." I frown at that. 

I don't know why Penny never takes me seriously about Baz. I mean, it's not like she only knows him through my rants, she's actually _met_ him before. Says they've got a class together and he's proper vicious when he wants to be. But then again, her tone was kind of admirable when she said it so maybe she's been a bit compromised. 

"Besides, I ordered you three roast beef sandwiches." She adds. Her voice does this weird sing-song thing that it usually does when she's trying to entice me with something.

It works though. My ears perk up at that. 

"Thanks, Pen." I mean, even Baz can't ruin roast beef. 

I don't see him again. We wait a few minutes to be served and the waiter that comes back with our food definitely isn't Baz. He's polite and nice and has red hair so, yeah. Not Baz. Good. I don't need him ruining my lunch anymore than he already has. 

I take a bite out of my sandwich and practically melt into my seat. This has to be the best roast beef I've ever tasted honestly. I scarf down the rest in two bites and finish up the entire plate before Penny's even done with half her burger. I consider ordering some more but Penny's paying so I don't want to spend more than I've got to. 

She gives me most of her chips though. And added to mine, it's enough for me to munch on until she's done eating. I still don't see Baz when we leave the diner. At least not clearly. I catch a flash of shiny black hair before we step out but it's gone before I can confirm if it's him. 

Figures really. The place that serves the best roast beef I've ever bloody had just had to also have the worst person ever working there to taint it.

Seeing Baz out here really sets me on edge, honestly. Seeing him outside of the room always does but it's weirder seeing him working and acting like a semi-normal person. Not that he even so much as _hinted_ at a soul when he took our orders. He was perfectly cold. Posh, ruthless, unattainable, _that's_ Baz. Not working class. 

It just. It goes against the image of him I've got in my head. But maybe that image isn't exactly the most accurate... Not that he's given me any proof that he _isn't_ most of the stuff I think about him–except maybe last night when he was on the phone in the bathroom and I shouldn't have been listening.

What do I even know about Baz? Like, _actually_ know about him. I should make a list. 

1\. His name. _Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch._

Fucking weird is what it is. But Penny confirmed that that's actually his name and he isn't just taking the piss. It's what he puts down on attendance slips in class and everything. 

2\. That he's an arrogant twat. It's a known fact. Nothing can disprove it. I once saw him completely reject this one girl when she asked him out. I mean, I know he's gay and all but he doesn't have to be such a prick about everything. And that's not _even_ to talk of all the fucked up things he's done to me. Twat.

3\. That he's infuriatingly good at everything. _Football. School._ The _violin._ Everything I've ever seen him attempt he always comes out on top. Bloody wanker. 

4\. That he's gay. Pretty self explanatory. 

5\. ... 

Is that really all that I know about Baz? Four definite things? We've been rooming together for over a month now and it's not that I expect us to be anything even remotely close to friends but. Well. 

I guess a lot of the things I think I _know_ about him are mostly hearsay or assumptions. I mean, I can't actually say I know for sure that he's some spoilt, pampered, brat whose family's net worth is high enough that it would make me dizzy to think about, but it does seem true. Which I guess is an unfair assumption.

But then again Baz hasn't exactly given me a reason to make fair assumptions about him, has he. 

It makes my skin itch a bit. The not knowing. We literally live in the same room together so it think it's only fair that I would want to know more things about him. I ought to know them really. He could be a vampire whose plotting to murder and I wouldn't be able to tell.

I look back at the diner and nearly stumble in my step because he's there again. Leaning against the side of the wall close to a small alley way, looking effortlessly cool. He's staring at me and he's got a cigarette in his hand. He blows a huge puff of smoke up before turning his back and disappearing further into the alley. 

Baz smokes? I guess I _was_ right about the not really knowing him thing... 

My hands clench into fists and I face forward and try and catch up to Penny who didn't bother slowing down for me. 

Maybe I don't really know the real Baz. But I'm sure as hell going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so bad at ending chapters what the heck

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't have an update schedule but I don't plan on abandoning this story no matter how long it takes for me to update lol


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